


Touch of Flesh

by Spiria



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While felling the Goblins, Thorin unknowingly cuts Fíli.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill to [this prompt on the kink meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1883846#t1883846). Never had I imagined I'd be writing for the fandom so soon despite my novice status, but, well, here I am.

With the sacrifice of vision came heightened everything else, and Thorin responded to the shrieks and crawls with a swing here, a stab there, and a slash everywhere. He could hear the grunts of his comrades from every which way, followed by the telltale noise of steel piercing gross flesh, second only to the cacophonous screams of Goblins that fell, whether under the Dwarf's boots or the open bridges on which they fought. But suddenly he heard his name, then the sensation of an oncoming bite from the same direction, and Thorin spun with Orcrist in hand.

There was a cry and a shriek. As the Goblin Thorin had struck fell away to the side, something else, too, collapsed onto its knees. At once, Thorin withdrew one step, raising Orcrist to take the creature's head when his vision, now better adapted to the darkness, realized the difference between a Goblin's yellow head and a Dwarf's blond braids.

Indignantly, and with a tinge of mad concern, Thorin shouted Fíli's name. A couple yards away, Kíli threw a Goblin with a smack of his sword before turning to the call, wide-eyed. Fíli grasped at his side and struggled to stand, teeth grit, biting down a gasp as Thorin whirled around on his feet, his deafening roar overtaking all noise.

 

Dwalin had taken Fíli on his back, flanked by Kíli and led by Thorin, whose ferocity in battle had made an immense leap upon realizing his sister-son's injury. But it was too dark and even more chaotic to treat him on the spot, and so the company had set about escaping the tunnels first. They continued to run once sunlight struck their grimy faces, rushing to a clearing where the Dwarrow encircled Dwalin as he laid Fíli on a slab.

Predictably, Kíli was the first to push his way to his brother, who despite his injury had regained his bearings enough to sit up, albeit with difficulty. "Brother," Kíli called, his eyes still wide, when Thorin pushed him aside to take his place at Fíli's side.

Fíli was still clutching his side, blood seeping through the material of his attire onto his palm. "It was my mistake." He winced. "Let's not stop, before we lose more time—"

"Show me," Thorin said.

Though hesitant, Fíli peeled his hand away. Thorin leaned in, and past the blood that caked the side of Fíli's coat saw the rigid tear that was the source. His brows furrowed, his lips downturned at the corners. No Goblin could have made a cut so clean, so deep.

Pushing against the slab, Fíli nodded reassuringly at Kíli. "It'll be fine. What about the rest of us?"

Gandalf loomed over the Dwarrow from the backmost position, peering over the crowd to Fíli. He glanced right, then left, then said, "Where is our hobbit?"

Thorin's shoulders heaved with quiet fury, and with a cross look faced Gandalf. "He has abandoned us. He saw the chance to flee back to his hole and took it," he said crossly, challenging to be told otherwise. Behind him, Fíli exhaled and sat straighter as Kíli came closer.

Though he would have contested Thorin's claims, Gandalf's next words in the hobbit's defense never came when Bilbo Baggins materialized as a testimony to himself. In spite of his condition, which Óin joined Kíli in attempting to treat, Fíli found that some of his tension had gone with the reemergence of their burglar.

The rest of the Dwarrow fixated on Bilbo's unexpected appearance. Strong hands undoing the material around his brother's coat, Kíli stopped only (but genuinely) for a second to admire Bilbo's heartfelt words. A toothy grin took his face and he worked to shrug off Fíli's coat, but lost his joy in the instant he chanced scrutinizing the deep sword wound Fili sported.

Kíli met his stony gaze.

"This is—"

There was a shrill cry and someone shouted, "Wargs!"


	2. Chapter 2

Gandalf had specifically bid Fíli and Kíli to be among the last to join Beorn's company, though he did not impart his reason as to the motive despite Thorin's inquisitive glance. Thorin was no fool, and he set his sights on his sister-sons when Gandalf departed with a huff, Bilbo at his side, leaving behind the Dwarrow and his instructions with them.

They were tucked away in the back with Fíli seated on an elevated piece of nature, Kíli flitting about him. His disheveled appearance notwithstanding, Kíli would have held an air of blissful ignorance had it not been for his energetic but nervous steps. He took Fíli's load aside, setting it down onto the dirt with all the grace of a typical Dwarf before snapping his gaze to his brother. He dared not look away for a second too long.

Fíli sat as upright as his sword wound allowed. With the wargs' emergence, he'd quickly gathered his things and shared a tree with Kíli, a hand pressed against his side to suppress the bleeding until he had started throwing blazing pine cones. He suffered from breathing in the smoke of the fire, an ordinarily minor issue that became more coupled with the rising blood loss. He had not had adequate time to cover up the cut, and even now, through his already soaked coat, clotting was at a minimum. In spite of this, as a responsible Dwarf he hadn't uttered so much as a squeak since Thorin's scrutiny on the slab. At the most, his perpetual easygoing smile wavered once in a while; for the time being, his lips were set straight and brows creased with the chance to finally lay low and regain his bearings.

Óin glanced their way once, then twice as Thorin passed him. He shifted the other way, eyes on the rest of the Dwarrow, and kept his ears alert. They were all quiet, mumbling among themselves (Bombur's complaints about being last perhaps the loudest of the exchanges) and caring not to attract foreign attention.

Thorin planted a firm hand on Kíli's shoulder, halting the latter's hasty pacing. Reaching over, he took the roll from Kíli's upturned hand and lumbered over to Fíli, who was coat-less and inspecting his side. He went rigid when he chanced a glance up and confirmed Thorin's looming presence.

"Your side," said Thorin, "Who was it? No Goblin could have made that cut. Their strength was lacking, and their swords were dull." With an edge of finality, he added: "You've hid the truth for this long. I'll ask again: who was it?"

Truthfully, and with some difficulty, Fíli answered: "It was too dark. I could barely see in front of myself; but I saw a Goblin leap at you, and that's when I felt it." He leaned forward, hands on his knees, willing down the shiver that threatened to crawl down his spine. "It's true. No Goblin should have made a cut like this."

"It is impossible."

"I don't know what happened, Thorin." Fíli's voice was above that of a bare whisper, between a combination of his growing weakness (that he was loathe to expose) and uneasy confusion over the answer. He was not lying.

He saw Kíli gazing intently at Thorin from behind, as if he wanted to cut into the conversation but dared not disgrace their uncle with his impatience. The way he was nearly bouncing on his heels made clear that he was anxious still. Fíli threw him a small grin over Thorin's shoulder.

Thorin was none too pleased with the answer (nor with himself, for a reason he would discover later) and showed this with his trademark scowl, but in understanding Fíli's smile turned aside. He relinquished the roll, tossing it back to Kíli, who caught it rather startled, and pointed his beard in Óin's direction.

"Óin, see to it that Fíli's wound is cared for," he said. A long shrill whistle sounded. Thorin glanced in the direction Gandalf and Bilbo had wandered into. "Dori, come with me."

So Thorin and Dori marched off in dignified haste, side by side, in deference to Gandalf's instructions. Bombur shook his head with a guttural sigh, Bofur nodded, Dwalin stared, and Óin hopped off of his stump to join Fíli and Kíli. Fíli was peeling off his top while Kíli worked at unwrapping the roll of cloth to apply later, the latter glancing and approaching Oin on sight.

"Óin, have you any gel?" he asked, his eyes wide since the last night.

With a knowing gesture, Óin answered: "You mean salve, laddie. And of course I do. What kind of a Dwarf would I be to miss my own invention?"

Kíli's face brightened at the reply and an excited smile crept up his face. He whipped around on his feet and nigh leaped onto Fíli's left side, with Óin on the right, and impatiently bid him to work his unique skill. At this point, Fíli had successfully revealed the damaged skin (a lucky wound, Óin would think, seeing as how the blade, whomever it belonged to, didn't penetrate too deep for bleeding in the inside) and was feeling some of the scabs so roughly that Óin had to bat the offending hand away.

"That'll be enough of that," he said gruffly. "But first, we've got to clean all that up."

The lack of substantial amount of water made the task an arduous one, so they skipped that part of the process, and settled with scraping off any dirt and other material that had pasted into and around the flesh wound. This was done fairly quickly, at the same time Nori and Ori got up to leave for the five minute mark. Brushing off remaining surface matter, Fíli leaned back, straightened, and puffed up his chest while bringing his arms back. This gave room for Óin to lean against the edge and apply the herbal salve to the cut; Fíli breathed through his nose, and held back any discomfort he felt behind a straight face as Kíli watched in deep seriousness.

"I'll do it," said Fíli when Kíli approached with the unwound cloth. "Give it here." Eagerly, it was relinquished to him and he tied the material around his waist tightly, not once making a sound even when the salve rubbed into the cut and made his body protest.

"You sure you don't know what struck you?" asked Óin, having packed away the remaining salve. "If it wasn't a Goblin, it had to have been something else. But they were only us Dwarrow and Gandalf, and he was all the way in the front."

"I speak the truth," answered Fíli, his look a thoughtful one. "I was struck from behind. There was no time for me to see. For all we know, it could have been a Goblin—an unusual one of its kind."

Kíli was glancing up and fidgeting, a nervous habit of his that both Fíli and Óin caught but said nothing of. It was soon their turn, and the brothers stood together for a swift parade over to the enigmatic lodging. Fíli's expression was firm but still easygoing, as though the hasty treatment had cured him the same as a week's worth of rest. It was with that seemingly newfound strength he and Kíli pushed open the door at once, smiling, and bowed.


	3. Chapter 3

Supper passed with merriness all around, and raucous laughter swept the house. When Beorn began to tire of the Dwarrow's ravings about gold and silvers and jewels, however, Fíli slipped away from the edge of the table without notice. Next to him, Kíli rose and followed not long after, but with the clatter of boots and wooden mug that snapped Thorin to his attention. He retreated, not oblivious to the fiery stare burning a hole in his back.

He found his brother by the fire and fingering his bloated side. Fíli had distracted himself at the table and even been relaxed for the most of it, but now, sitting in his lonesome with the heat licking his grimy raiment, his body tensed, causing obvious discomfort.

"Does it hurt?" asked Kíli, dropping onto the floor beside Fíli.

"No," said Fíli, "it tingles a bit. Oin's stuff works, that's for sure."

"We wouldn't rely on it so much if it didn't."

"Yes . . . " Trailing off, Fíli leaned back and threw Kíli a curious glance. "Don't you want to join them? It's rather boring here with just you and me."

"Boring? Sure, the tales of riches are enticing, but I'd much rather sit with you." Kíli looked thoughtful for a moment, remembering Beorn's straight lips, no longer upturned as it had been a mere hour prior. "Not to mention it was getting a bit repetitive."

Fíli raised a brow. "So now you're bored of those?"

Kíli did not laugh, though his tone was mirthful and almost pensive. "Oh, no, they're all very interesting. I can't say our gracious host feels the same. It's not quite the same when the host doesn't share in laughs."

"You didn't say anything like that when we visited our burglar."

"Ah, yes." Kíli's next words were highlighted with nostalgic fondness. "The hole of Mister Baggins'. Well, that was different." He paused. "The same, but different."

Nodding knowingly, Fíli hunched forward when his side began to sting in protest from the leaned position. It no longer bled, at least not enough to soak through, and the ointment had dulled most of the pain over the evening meal. He'd hardly felt a thing, until a sharp prick had suddenly upset his comfortable place at the table. It persisted and, after exchanging glances with Kíli, he had left. The warmth of the fire squashed some of the prickling, and he was beginning to relax again.

But when he shared in a brotherhood with one of the most outspoken Dwarrow of their few numbers, silence was another matter entirely.

"How's your side?" asked Kíli.

"Doing much better now," said Fíli. "Really, it's not as big a problem as Thorin or Oin have made it out to be. What about you? Does the smoke still bother you?"

Kíli shook his head. "Never has, and it won't be an issue now."

Fíli nodded again, more to himself than to Kíli, and they went silent. That is, until Kíli took a stab at a related subject.

"You really didn't see who struck you?"

His eyes narrowing, Fíli answered: "It was too dark. But I did see a Goblin, and it was running straight for someone bigger. It must have been Thorin." That much he knew, but Fíli even now could not recall with clarity where the offending sword had emerged from, and who its wielder had been. And he would not point fingers, not with such few evidence and the chaos of that time. So he looked warily at Kíli, both his tone and expression full of caution. "Don't start assuming."

He saw how Kíli's thick brows furrowed, a look actually not foreign on his brother's youthful face, and how his overall expression turned grim at the words. "But you know it, yourself," retorted Kíli. "You suspect it, too, and that's why you hide it."

"I'm not hiding anything, Kíli."

"I saw it," said Kíli indignantly. "When we were about to heal you outside the tunnel. And you knew it even as far back as then." He shifted, so that he faced Fíli properly, ignoring the welcome warmth spilling from the hearth. "That was the cut of an Elvish blade."

"How do you know for sure?" Fíli shook his head, a silent sigh racking his slack shoulders. "This is the first time you've seen an Elvish blade."

"That's exactly it! Thorin was right; no Goblin could have done it. I know what a mark from our weapons would be like. What you've got looks nothing like that."

If there was one thing Kíli could pride himself on, it was his good eye. It was a terribly good eye, both of them, and he had the stubbornness of a bull—nay, the stubbornness of a Dwarf to even wring a smile out of stern Thorin, among accomplishing other feats that would have normally been so difficult that anyone else would have given up. And now, it seemed, he would squeeze a real sigh and some honest confession out of Fíli.

Even so, a part of Fíli was skeptical. He knew Kíli was not as knowledgeable as he claimed. They were both young, and both oft very foolish. But Kíli's intentions were sound, even admirable, and he could scarce deny his brother.

"You have a point," Fíli conceded. "If we put them all out, the pieces come together so easily . . . "

Kíli's serious look did not fade, though some of its severity did. Fíli saw his shoulders slack, squared earlier during his rant, and suddenly Kíli was giving him his usual toothy grin that evoked a similar reaction from himself.

"Then I suppose you want me to tell Thorin about this," said Fíli. It was an odd thing to smile to, but some of the burden of ruminating alone on the matter had lifted.

"You've seen how he's been," Kíli reasoned. "It'll be better once you spit it out."

"You seem to be forgetting that it'll probably cause just as much grief. You realize what you've been implicating this whole time?"

Both their smiles dropped. The gravity of the conversation became heavier for Fíli as the weight finally weighed in whole on Kíli, who picked at the material of his gloves. They had kept the discussion light on purpose, they knew, but once it came down to it, there seemed no good way to take the news lightly. Acceptably. Thorin could be harsh, sometimes downright discouraging, yet the brothers were aware that he had never not meant well. It had always been for their good, and to suggest that he had done otherwise would be more than a twisted knife in his face.

But Kíli loved to wear his heart on his sleeve, loved to flaunt his joy and his eagerness, and it was no surprise he would give his consternation the same treatment. Fíli only wished that Kíli hadn't had to bear the anxiety of his brother's mistake in somehow throwing himself into Thorin's range in the tunnel.

Looking to his side, he saw that Kíli had turned back to the fire. He could still hear the bellows and howls of laughter, far away enough to know that the Dwarrow hadn't heard a single word uttered by the fire. Eyes still on Kíli's back, Fíli allowed himself a slight reassuring grin before he motioned for his brother to come closer.

"Kíli," he said, "help me clean this wound. We have clean water this time."

Kíli's head shot up, and with a childlike eagerness he scooted on over to Fíli's side.


	4. Chapter 4

Fíli and Kíli had just finished cleaning and reapplying the bandages to the wound when Beorn left, bringing the rest of the Dwarrow to the fire. The brothers greeted them with smiles and nods, though Kíli's faltered when he caught Thorin's scowl. Quickly, Fíli grasped Kíli by the arm, standing. They all proceeded to gather, save Bilbo, and sang as one. Their voices low and soothing, they sang past the evening until the onset of drowsiness overtook them.

As most threw themselves on their temporary lodgings, Thorin took Fíli aside. He shook his head when Kíli turned and began to follow.

"Go to sleep, Kíli."

Eager to do as Thorin wished, with a hesitant glance at Fíli, Kíli nodded and went to lay among their companions.

Then Thorin called Óin over for another evaluation, and he predicted that Fíli was already on the road to a swift recovery as long as he kept some burden off of the injury. Thorin might have been tough as a diamond, but Fíli saw the way his mighty shoulders slacked and his brows unknit with the news—it was a shame that he could not share in the relief. His stomach threatened to turn and churn, and it did, a general feeling of unsettlement punching his metaphorical guts. And it only worsened when Óin was sent away, leaving them standing on the other side of the fire.

They kept their voice hushed, low enough to hear one another with clarity while eluding the others.

Thorin circled Fíli, scrutinizing the hidden wound. "Does it hinder you?" he asked. When Fíli shook his head, he continued, more deliberately: "Are you ready to talk?"

"Thorin?"

Thorin regarded him quietly but with a stern gaze. He stopped moving at the side of the wound, and, looking down at the cloth it lay behind, he took a heavy, deep breath through his nostrils.

"Did you think I hadn't noticed?" he said. "You know better than anyone how honest Kíli can be."

Fíli nodded numbly under the pressure. "Óin didn't say anything?"

"He felt no need." Silence swept over them, with Fíli maintaing direct eyecontact. Thorin seemed to be searching his eyes, and when this apparently proved unsatisafactory, he asked: "Why didn't you say anything? Is this the extent you trust me? The others?"

Before he could stop himself, Fíli blurted: "No. Thorin, I trust you with my life. We both do—Kíli and I."

"Then why did you lie?"

It was Fíli's turn to breathe through his nose. He was not ready to open his mouth for anything beyond careful words. "I didn't. I was uncertain."

"You forced your brother to grit his teeth for you."

"I'm sorry. Thorin," Fíli hastily continued, "we talked it out."

Thorin gave him a look that clearly awaited answers. He was being patient, all things considered, and letting Fíli to spill at his own pace. Grateful, if still tense, Fíli straightened as his hand idly wandered to his injured side. The sudden stress was beginning to irritate it, and he would not let it best him. "He advises that I tell you the unadulterated truth," he said.

"Kíli. Advises. This time it is your brother lending you wisdom," said Thorin. "Well?"

Fíli suspected that Thorin knew—had known, since the very moment he'd shot so sharp a look back on the slab—what would come out of his mouth, yet ultimately wished for him to say it. Some verbal proof, some finality to the guessing and accusations, subconscious or on the surface. And though it had been so easy to put together and examine, Fíli found it nigh impossible to utter such damning words.

At last, he shook his head and said, "Not now. It's too late. I'll tell you everything in the morning."

Thorin had spent many a year waiting, and even if his face tended to show otherwise through severe expressions, he was a patient Dwarf. However, to Fíli's surprise, he quite frankly replied, "No. We are short on time. You'll say what you have to say now."

Despite the enlightening conversation with Kíli not less than an hour ago, Fíli found his comfort slipping away. Not his confidence, nor his courage, for those were beaten into him as labor had beaten out sweat in his adolescence, training and all, and he would sooner die than lose the pride that came with them—but the easy comfort of knowing what to do and say, as all eloquence up and deserted him. He was a mess of words, wilting under Thorin's rising scorn.

He felt once more a child under the increasing pressure, the heat in his cheeks only compounding to the thought. His being welled with self-shame at the unbecoming behavior of an heir to the Line of Durin's Folk.

Self-deprecation would not aid in his making words, however, and at first he stumbled: "That is . . . Back in the tunnel, we were close. I thought I saw you, and I called your name." His mind went blank, and he stopped, a mild scowl upon his face. He was not yet out of the deep end, if Thorin's maintenance of his sternness was indication. "Then I felt something. It was a strong cut, and it seemed impossible to have been a Goblin."

Thorin already knew all of this. But the momentum he'd spun consoled him, and with a mighty breath, Fíli said everything. Not blurted. Said, like a Dwarf of his station.

_It was you._

Nothing would have prepared Fíli for the unwinding face of Thorin, the unmoving frown unraveled to a look of something akin to onus. It was slight and barely noticeable, but the changes in his dark eyes were monumental. Seeing it wrought Fíli's heart to a sudden palpitation; and he could feel the blood pounding harshly against his body, his skin; and even the pain of his throbbing side was completely and perfectly numb when he beheld a face he never should have seen on his uncle.

It was as if something dark had been cast over Thorin, and it continued to loom over him, and Fíli was disturbed to think it. All at once, the heat escaped, and a frightening chill rushed in with the sudden scuttling against the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Come morning, Beorn and Gandalf had gone. The Dwarrow woke one after another, comfortable in their beds and the services of the animals attending to them.

Fíli was among the first to take the table. His face was fresh and regaining color, though his sleep had been the poorest of the company, not to mention the shortest next to Thorin. But he had woken without drowsiness to the pang of hunger, a call from his fatigued body, and he helped himself to his share.

Kíli was never long behind and came around within a couple of bites, no yawn and all energy. He dropped onto a seat beside Fíli (no surprise that Fíli would be here, gorging, if not in his bed).

"You look tired," Kíli said lightly, reaching over the table for a bite.

"Though I'm not," replied Fíli. "Just hungry."

Kíli hummed, chewing. Then he said: "What did Thorin say?"

"Nothing, really."

"So a face?"

Fíli nodded. "Just the face," he added.

"Is that mead?" asked Kíli, pointing to a wooden mug.

"It is. Help yourself," said Fíli. He, too, helped himself to another.

Soon Balin entered, and he placed himself at the edge after a quick nod to the younger Dwarrow. For a while they ate in blissful silence, seeking to fill their empty stomachs until Balin saw that Fíli favored his right side—and why ever not, it was his dominant arm!; however, it was the overreliance that prompted his attention.

"How's your side, laddie? "asked Balin.

Swallowing, Fíli nodded. "Much better. The water last night helped," he said. "It won't be a bother when we set out."

Balin seemed content with the answer. "Well, our host is gone; and Thorin, as you probably know, is already up and about. You'll have to be prepared."

Thorin had woken before any of the Dwarrow and Bilbo. Fíli knew and had not seen him yet. the distance was bound to be short, and he was aware Kíli, staring at the back of Fíli's skull, turned toward Balin, understood the same. Kíli probably had that intense look about him, as he liked to do, so Fíli could only nod again; assuredly, this time.

Neither Fíli nor Balin desired to prolong such a morose conversation, so they resumed eating until the next bunch of Dwarrow came upon the crumbs and mugs. They sat together in a merry gathering and shared laughter to break the lingering drowsiness of just rising, far from hindered by the sudden peace within a shelter. However, all throughout the morning Thorin was gone, and still was when the rest of the Dwarrow, sated, resolved to search for Beorn and set off.

Balin stood patiently against the entrance when Fíli strode up behind Kíli, who had been allowed pass.

"Ah, not you, laddie," said Balin. "Someone needs to watch the place and wait for Thorin."

Behind Balin, Kíli frowned.

Fíli buried his disappointment and stayed behind.

It was well into the late afternoon when the door swung open. Fíli had taken to Bilbo's sole company (as well as Beorn's ponies, how fine they were) at the breakfast table and excused himself with the raise of his gloved hand.

Bilbo was a shrewd Hobbit, at least enough so that he sensed a meeting he shouldn't disturb and retreated to his haystack to ruminate on the sounds of the previous night. He passed Thorin around the corner; Thorin watched him go, but moved his attention to the table when Fíli called his name. It was unexpectedly empty.

"The others went on to look," said Fíli.

"And you didn't go with them?" asked Thorin with a cross face. He looked upon Fíli and furrowed his brows.

"Balin had me stay. Can't well leave our Hobbit by his lonesome, can we?"

With all the heavy briskness of a Dwarf, Thorin sat where Fíli had hours prior. The barest leftovers had been cleaned (with song and many a flying plate, of course, compounded with a number of animal noises) and the table was devoid of consumables, but Thorin was hardly interested in eating. He rested an arm on the top and glanced up, then down, bidding Fíli to the seat across him. Fíli obeyed without question.

Already, the air was thick with tension. Fíli's jaws locked stubbornly, his mind awaiting Thorin's first move for what had been inevitable since they'd escaped the tunnel—rather, since he'd felt the powerful cut pierce even the thick of his coat and the fabric beneath the protective outer layer.

The wound discomforted him when he put considerable strain there, be it twisting or turning, and Fíli had learned quickly not to aggravate his side lest it reopen. It was on the road to fast recovery, at least in terms of their time constraint. He would not hinder the company any more than he had.

On a quest so monumental, casualty was expected; the last cut to close lay with Thorin, whose shoulders, still so big and bared with immense pride and confidence, fought against the pressure of increasing burden.

"It looks like your side is recovering," Thorin observed at last, seeing how Fíli took his place without awkwardness.

"Better than I'd hoped," answered Fíli honestly. "When do we go?"

"We go when it's time. Not while our host is away."

"No sign of him, then?" asked Fíli.

"None," said Thorin.

Silence loomed over them as they maintained eye contact. Neither would look away, nor did they have the will to do so. Thorin's expression was a cloudy one, as per the usual, with a striking seriousness and majesty about him, though he appeared even unhappier than the norm. He would be hard to please.

Fíli considered his choices and threw most of them aside in his mind: there was no crime to forgive, no need for superficial comforts, and certainly not unnecessary apologies. No, Thorin would scorn them all. He should not be treated like fragile gold for a mistake any other could have made just as easily, for Thorin better resembled a diamond: tight, severe, and unbreakable. So Fíli deigned not to.

He had known his uncle for eight decades, a decent number of years for Dwarrow, and had always been as honest as he could be. Now, he thought, there is no reason to deviate.

"Kíli should be back soon," said Fíli.

"He's usually the first Dwarf to return," Thorin replied. The muscles in his face relaxed slightly. "Without a doubt, he'll be this time with you here."

"He comes back first because he wants to please you first."

"He is too eager," said Thorin, but not with scorn. He looked more carefully at Fíli, and the silence, though wordless, was not empty: _And so are you._

Fíli smiled wryly. "This is our first quest. And we probably won't have one so great after. Can you blame us?" he said, inclining his head to the side.

"No." Thorin gave a part shake of his head, nose pointed at an angle to Fíli's side. Muscles relaxed more, then his face was at its gentlest since a long while. There had been no opportunity for tenderness in their wild detours and adventures. "It is more than I could have asked for."

"There was never the need to."

Thorin paused. His brows furrowed again, and gone was the short-lived serenity. "You were wounded because of me," he said gravely.

"It could have been anyone," Fíli reasoned. Most of his prior tension had left him, his esteem of the moment renewed by faith in honesty and Thorin both.

"And it was me." Thorin's words seemed to carry a smidgen of disdain, made all the more apparent by his downturned lips and the quiet fury in his eyes.

"Then I'm glad that it was you, of all Dwarrow," said Fíli. And he meant it. "If I'm to be struck, better you than Kíli—or Balin or Dwalin. You understand, don't you, Thorin? This is hardly a mistake." He leaned forward, and overtly placed a hand over his injured side and continued: "If it fades, then let it be a memory. If it doesn't, then this'll be the mark of my part in this quest. Nothing to be ashamed of. I'll wear it with all the pride and confidence a son of Durin should."


End file.
